


Imagine This

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-15
Updated: 2009-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of two beds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine This

After surveying the sumptuous guest room and attached bath with satisfaction, John rubbed his hands in glee. "Now that's more like it!" He immediately began to doff his heavy tac vest, hopping a little as he also tried to toe off his loosely tied boots at the same time.

Rodney accorded the gleaming wood paneling, plush carpets, and comfortable-looking furniture a cursory glance and shrugged before huffing, "It's okay, I guess." His equipment and clothing removal proceeded at a much more sedate pace.

Halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, John paused. "What's wrong, McKay?"

"Nothing."

A single word answer instead of the usual diatribe about anything and everything that wasn't right in the scientist's world brought a frown to John's face. He took a step towards Rodney and prodded for a better answer. "No, I don't think so. Tell me what's going on."

Turning away to hang his vest on a conveniently placed hook, Rodney sighed and mumbled, "Two beds."

One eyebrow arched as John carefully reconsidered the room's furnishings and then he prompted Rodney for more detail on his concerns. "Yes, two very large beds that look a hell of a lot nicer than what we have at Atlantis. So?"

Rodney nodded in agreement, shambled over to the nearest bed in question, and plopped down on the edge to untie his boots. "They're nice beds. It was a really great feast, too. All except for that wine they make with that orange-like fruit."

Taking a seat on the other bed, John leaned forward with his hands on his knees and attempted to make out the expression on Rodney's averted face. There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he continued to probe. "Friendly natives, great food, nice room, _two_ comfortable beds. This is the best we've encountered yet on our missions. What exactly is your problem, McKay?"

Shoes removed and carefully placed to the side, Rodney gripped the side of the mattress tight as he reluctantly admitted, "I've read too many highly confidential first contact reports from the SGC."

"And?"

"You know, a little too much of the local drink, possibly with an aphrodisiac added to it, one room, one bed...." One of Rodney's hands broke free and waved between them, the red flush on his cheeks obviously owing nothing to the wine he hadn't been able to drink. "I don't suppose you're feeling a little...odd?"

John's eyes widened as Rodney's words and gestures sunk in. "You mean...you...and me?"

"Admittedly, leaving the potential for anaphylactic shock aside for the moment, I used to imagine it happening with someone a little different, blonde...female...but lately...." Rodney suddenly choked off the stream of words, his face creased in dismay. "God, I shouldn't have said anything, Sheppard. Can you just chalk it up to exhaustion and we can both get some sleep?" Without waiting for an answer, Rodney shucked his pants and jacket, tossing them over the foot of his bed before crawling under the heavy comforter and settling in with his back turned to John. After a moment, he grumbled in a slightly more normal tone, "Could you get the lights?"

John doused the lights and climbed into his own bed before attempting any response to Rodney's blunder into dangerous territory. "Rodney...."

The evident fatigue in Rodney's voice reinforced his earlier request for clemency. "Please don't. I...I was up all last night due to the latest glitch in the security protocols. Let me just imagine that I didn't just...just screw up everything between us so I can try to get some sleep."

Silence reigned in the dark room for a few minutes before John quietly pledged, "You don't have to imagine it, Rodney. We're okay."

Not long afterward, the snuffling purr of Rodney's usual snores offered its own reassurance and John followed the familiar sound as it led him through some interesting dreams.

 

"Gee, Rodney, should I be insulted that you forgot about our Tuesday night game?"

The sarcastic drawl from the doorway of the lab tightened the sole occupant's shoulders before he swiveled around on his stool to glare at John. "Would it hurt to just once make some noise coming in instead of constantly sneaking up on me?"

The elevation of both eyebrows, a tilt of his head, and a pat of the doorframe he was leaning against was John's response.

"Fine, fine. You're not _in_," Rodney huffed in exasperation. He folded his arms, his chin set at an angle clearly signaling his less-than-pleasant mood. "What do you need, Colonel?"

Folding his own arms and narrowing his eyes as counterpoint to Rodney's annoying behavior, John growled back, "What I _need_ is for my friend stop acting like more of an asshole than usual and stop avoiding me."

Rodney glanced to the side as though searching for an answer on the whiteboards covered with equations. His belligerent posture drooped a little as he finally admitted in a low voice, "I...uh...I wasn't sure you...."

Relaxing his own stance, John grinned in reply. "Come on, genius. Close it down. I've already got the chessboard set up in my room and the beer's on ice, so to speak."

With a single nod, Rodney accepted John's invitation and swiveled back around to shut down his laptop. It was only a matter of moments before he was on his feet and headed for the door, bulling past John and down the hall toward the nearest transport at his usual clip. John shook his head and chuckled as a 'well, come on then' echoed back to him, then shoved away from the doorframe and followed as directed.

 

Absently flipping a captured rook between finger and thumb, John studied the board and frowned at the chaos spread across it that proved neither he nor Rodney was concentrating on the game. Glancing up through his lashes, he watched for Rodney's reaction as he drawled, "You know, if you'd joined the team for a few meals this past week, instead of hiding out in your lab or your room, you might've noticed how careful I've been about citrus since MDX-433."

The bishop under Rodney's fingers tipped over as he jerked his hand back. His blue eyes widened as he shifted back in John's desk chair, the wheels grinding a few inches in reverse. "I...but you said we were...."

"I said we were okay. We are." John carefully placed the rook on the desk and repositioned himself a little further forward on the edge of his mattress. "Relax, Rodney. I was just trying to find a way to let you know I've been _imagining_ a few things myself." When Rodney didn't immediately jump to his feet, grab the shoes he'd kicked off at the door, and bolt from the room, John released the breath he was holding and grinned, waiting.

He wasn't disappointed. "So...uh...what exactly have you been...imagining?" Rodney stammered, his eyes darting from John's face to the chessboard to his own hands, which he suddenly restrained from waving by crossing his arms. "Well?"

Moving slowly, John pointed to a clear space on the desk. "That happens to be a crystal decanter filled with cognac." Reaching out, he mimed picking up the heavy bottle and pouring it out into an invisible snifter cradled in the palm of his other hand. He handed it off to Rodney with a supercilious sneer and the accent of the most pretentious of sommeliers, "Remy Martin Louis XIII, of course."

Carefully pouring a measure for himself, John placed the decanter back on the desk. After swirling his phantom liquor for a few moments, he raised the snifter to his nose to sample the bouquet. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile as he looked up into Rodney's awestruck face, and he nodded toward Rodney's cupped palm. "Well?"

Never taking his eyes from John's face, Rodney swirled his own invisible drink a few times before lifting it to his nose and taking a deep sniff. The lines of stress around his eyes softened as he lowered his hand and the drooping corner of his mouth rose a fraction as he explained, "I'm not certain I can judge. I've never really acquired the taste for cognac or brandy, but if you wanted my opinion on vodka then I'd be able to...." He interrupted himself with a shake of his head and an abashed grin. "I'd say this is...perfect."

Amusement danced in John's eyes as he tipped his head, threw back his drink, and then twisted to toss his snifter toward the wall. Chuckling at Rodney's baffled expression, John shrugged and enlightened him. "It's a fireplace. Always wanted to do that." Nodding in understanding, Rodney mimicked John's actions, his mouth dropping open in astonishment when John teasingly chided him. "You missed."

The arms were back across Rodney's chest as he protested, "How could you possibly tell?"

John waved away Rodney's objections with an airy, "It's _my_ fireplace, I know whether it made it in or not. Don't worry about it. The maid will take care of it in the morning."

"You know that you're really weird, right?"

The eye rolling was classic Rodney and John laughed aloud to see it. "Hey, I'm not the one who started talking about the whole imagining thing."

Face suddenly serious again, Rodney asked, "I have to know. If you've never imagined us like this before, then why now?"

"I didn't say that I hadn't, just that you were the one who brought it up first." Shaking his head at the question, John patted the bed beside him suggestively. "I...I've thought about it a few times."

Rising slowly to his feet, Rodney kept his arms crossed, an unconscious barrier against unpleasant revelations. "So why didn't you...you know, we could have...that night."

John reached out and tugged Rodney closer, the hem of his grey t-shirt crumpled in John's fist. "After you turned it into a possibility, I wanted to make sure you knew it wasn't just the circumstances or that stupid wine...or one night that we'd both pretend never happened."

Bowing to the inevitable, Rodney shuffled forward until his knees were against the bed, then turned enough to sit facing John, one sock-clad foot on the floor, the other drawn up onto the mattress. His eyes searched John's as he ruefully admitted, "I can't believe I'm trying to talk myself out of getting laid for the first time in what seems like forever, but what about..." He pressed his palm to the center of John's chest, cupping the dog tags hidden beneath soft black cotton.

A muscle in John's jaw twitched before he grasped Rodney's hand and shifted it back to Rodney's shin. With a tighter smile, he positioned his hands as if holding a book and flipping pages, stopping to read invisible lines of print with his forefinger. With a ripping motion, John tore out the page in question, crumpled it in his fist and tossed it into transparent flames. Tossing the book back on the desk, he retrieved Rodney's hand and laced their fingers together. His voice was rough-edged as he declared, "That'll have to do until enough politicians manage to get their heads out of their asses long enough to make it real."

Uncharacteristically quiet, Rodney studied their hands, twisting them as if to gauge how well they fit together. "I've never done anything quite like this before so you'll have to give me a hint. When does all this _imagining_ turn into something real?"

Shifting until his position mirrored Rodney's on the bed, John leaned forward and whispered, "I'm no expert myself, but I think that tradition calls for a kiss."

"I think you're right." Rodney leaned to meet John in the middle, their drawn-up legs separating them except for their hands, until their lips met to close the circuit. A light dry brush moistened with the tip of a tongue deepened with a tilt of the head and firmer pressure. A tiny sound escaped Rodney, and John reached out to haul him in closer, repositioning them both until John was lying back with Rodney settled between his legs.

The need for air finally broke them apart, gasping, but John wouldn't let Rodney shift to the side, tightening his arms and insisting, "Stay. I like it." Stretching up, he mouthed along the edge of Rodney's stubbled jaw until Rodney lowered his head and met him in a soft kiss, his free hand straying to John's hair to anchor him in place when the heat rose again. The second time they broke apart, John reluctantly let Rodney slide to one side as they both tried to catch their breath. Turning his head to look at Rodney, John grated, "So?"

Mouth curved upward in satisfaction, Rodney nodded and decreed, "Real."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the January 2009 mcsmooch.


End file.
